


In Every Universe, But Especially This One

by desperately_seeking_words



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universes, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, F/M, M/M, Parallel Universes, post season 12, samjess - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperately_seeking_words/pseuds/desperately_seeking_words
Summary: Sam and Dean must cope with the fallout of the birth of the nephilim while also trying to save their mom from the apocalyptic Earth in which she is trapped with Lucifer. The Winchesters hop from universe to universe trying to find the right one, and the consequences and rewards for what they find along the way will leave its mark on them and the world forever.





	1. All My Love

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't attempted a long fic in several years, so here goes nothing. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! I can't guarantee regular updates until June, but I wanted to get this first bit out there since I'm still running off the momentum of that finale.
> 
> Let me know what you think! Comments are greatly appreciated.

Different people cope with seemingly insurmountable odds in different ways.  Some completely shut down and drown themselves in Johnnie Walker Black (not that Sam is naming any names), while others desperately search for some sort of solution despite the unceasing feeling of hopelessness that threatens to drag them down into complete and utter despair.

It has been three days since they lost everything that matters. As far as Sam is concerned, he is coping pretty damn well. Dean, on the other hand…

Sam rubs at his aching eyes.  Perhaps his lack of sleep is an unhealthy side effect of everything that has transpired in the past week, but it’s leaps and bounds better than the way Dean has been treating himself.  Which, of course, is why, as soon as Dean drags his feet into the kitchen (how many hours has it been since Sam has seen him? Has he even seen him at all today? It’s hard to keep track), he’s immediately trying to gage just how bad it is. 

“Hey?” Sam greets, his voice turning up at the end as if it’s a question.  “You, uh, you want to grab lunch? I was just about to make a grocery run.” 

Dean barely glances in his direction, and Sam can see that his eyes are red. A sleepless red. Wonderful.  “Uh, no.  I’m not really all that hungry,” he mutters as he opens a cupboard and reaches for the coffee. 

Sam clenches his jaw.  Alarms and the words _not good not good not good_ blare in his head.  Dean looks worn, and it’s not just the eyes. His clothes look like they haven’t been changed since they came back to the bunker.  He reeks of stale beer and sweat, which again reinforces the idea that he has not changed clothes, or showered for that matter.  Sam shakes his head.  “Dean, you need to eat. I haven’t seen you even _touch_ food since--” 

Sam is interrupted by Dean slamming the cupboard shut.  Sam winces and takes a deep breath as he watches his older brother’s back muscles tense.  He had decided from the get-go to take this slow with Dean since he was clearly in such a fragile state, but he obviously wasn’t doing the best job of it. 

Dean turns on him with his face schooled into a stone cold expression.  “Any news on the nephilim?” 

Sam leans back in his chair and is momentarily resigned to the abrupt change in subject.  “You mean ‘Jack?’” Sam had seen the name painted in the nursery and had told Dean about it, but Dean doesn’t seem to care that the thing has a name. 

“Yeah, whatever. News?” Dean grunts as he turns back to filling the coffee machine. 

“No.  He disappeared as quickly as he arrived, which is to say, pretty damn quick,” Sam sighs.  “But I’m sure he’ll start making waves soon if he has even half the power that everyone says he has.” 

Dean nods. “Mom?” 

Sam feels a pang in his chest.  He wishes he could have some good news to give to Dean. _Anything_.  “There isn’t much known about parallel universes.  There’s a field that studies them, but…” 

“But?” 

“It’s called ‘theoretical’ physics for a reason, Dean. It’s all theories. Nothing concrete.” 

“Wonderful,” Dean mutters, his back turned and hunched over the coffee pot. 

Sam chews on his lip as an uncomfortable silence hangs over them.  They still haven’t talked about it since that night, if one could even call _that_ talking about it.  “Dean, are you-” 

“We have to find this thing, Sammy.” Dean’s hands clench against the counter and Sam can see his knuckles turn white.  “Take it out before it can mess things up any more than it already has by simply _existing_.” 

Sam frowns at Dean’s attempt to continue avoiding the inevitable conversation about the elephant in the room.  He knows Dean is hurting, and he knows that Jack is undoubtedly a potential threat, but the thing is that no one knows anything about him, and Dean’s insistence that he is simply a thing that needs to be put down leaves Sam feeling unsettled.  “Isn’t it possible that he’s just a kid? A kid without parents? Scared? Alone?” 

Dean shakes his head.  “Look at what it’s done, Sam.”

“We can’t really be talking about blaming him for what happened to mom and Cas.” 

Dean’s shoulders drop at the mention of the angel’s name, and Sam winces again. 

“Look, Cas said that he’s good for this world, and who knows, maybe he’s-” 

“Cas is wrong!” Dean shouts, turning around.  His eyes are wild for a moment before completely losing what little light seemed to be behind them.  His face drops and he avoids eye contact.  “Cas... _was_ wrong,” he corrects, his voice cracking.  His brow creases, and Sam doesn’t think Dean has ever looked as old as he does in this moment.   

There is one more moment of brief hesitation before Dean abandons the coffee pot completely, swipes another bottle of whiskey off the nearby shelf, and heads towards the hall.  “Just...keep researching.” 

Sam thinks about calling him back.  He thinks about lecturing him about the harm of drowning himself in booze and starving himself. But he doesn’t.  He thinks that maybe he’ll let Dean cope in his own way a little while longer before making him face up to everything. 

Mom is trapped in a parallel world.  Cas is dead.  They’ve lost everything that matters to them, but that doesn’t mean the world stops spinning. 

And if the world keeps going, so must they. 

* * *

Sam sits in the driver’s seat of the Impala and stares out the windshield for a moment.  He hadn’t been lying about making a grocery run, but now that he’s faced with the actual task, he finds himself reluctant to actually go through with it.  It sounds silly, being afraid to go to the store to buy food for himself and his stubborn brother, but Dean isn’t the only one that hasn’t left the bunker since everything went down. 

Sam might be coping with everything better than Dean, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t struggling. 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and feels around before his fingers brush a small plastic object.  With a deep sigh, he pulls the object out of his pocket and stares at it as it sits in his open palm. 

It’s a small cassette tape labeled “Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx.”  His eyes sting as he looks at it and remembers how he came to have it in his possession: 

 _When he got back outside the house, Sam saw that Dean was kneeling next to Cas’s very still body.  Sam watched with a heavy heart as Dean reached trembling fingers out to straighten Cas’s tie, as if it still mattered.  As if Cas would wake up and be disappointed if his tie had a wrinkle in it._  

 _Sam blinked his eyes furiously to keep the tears at bay as he strode forward towards his brother that looked so small.  Sam was overcome by a feeling of intense protectiveness: he wished that he could take this pain from him.  If he could bear his and Dean’s pain on his own, he would do it in a heartbeat, because in that moment he truly understood just how much Cas meant to his brother. Or, at least, he felt that he was starting to._  

 _Sam reached a hand out and placed it on Dean’s shoulder as he reached his side.  Dean flinched under the unexpected contact, so absorbed in this moment, in_ Cas, _that he didn’t hear Sam’s approach._  

 _“Dean,” Sam tried, his voice gentle, “Dean, we need to go.”_  

 _Dean said nothing.  His hand moved to the lapel of Cas’s trenchcoat and ensnared it in a tight fist in some gesture of desperation to cling to the angel in any way that he could. His hands shook. His knuckles were white as bone._  

 _“We need to get him out of here,” Sam tried, focusing his gaze on Cas.  His face was so...peaceful.  Like he was asleep._  

 _But angels don’t sleep, and living angels certainly don’t leave their wings burned into the earth._  

 _Dean looked up at him, and Sam finally saw the tear stains on his stubbled cheeks.  It gutted him._  

 _“We need to…” Sam began, but stopped.  How could he even begin to discuss this?  “We need to take him somewhere.  Somewhere safe.”_  

 _“Safe?” Dean croaked, his voice hoarse.  He seemed so puzzled by that word, and Sam couldn’t blame him._  

 _Sam offered his hand.  “Pull the Impala around.  We’ll take him home.”  After that, Sam had no idea what they would do, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it._  

 _There was a moment’s hesitation in which Dean looked back at Cas as if he could not bear to leave his side.  Then, he drew his shoulders back and accepted Sam’s hand.  The soldier was back, and the moment was broken._  

 _Without another word, Dean dragged himself back to the Impala, and Sam was left alone with what remained of his best friend._  

 _Sam lowered himself to crouch next to Cas.  His lips quaked as he reached a hand out and placed it over Cas’s chest, feeling the finality of his lack of heartbeat for the first time.  And that’s when he felt it: ridges of some sort of object in Cas’s coat pocket that was resting right over his rhythmless heart._  

 _Puzzled, Sam reached into the pocket and pulled out a cassette tape.  With a quick glance over his shoulder as he heard the telltale rumble of Dean starting up the Impala, Sam hastily tucked the tape into his own pocket to think about later when he has time._   

Sam blinks away the memory and turns the tape over in his hand.  Nowhere does it say which tracks (“traxx”) are on the tape.  If he didn’t know his brother as well as he does, he would not think much of the tape’s existence at all.  Dean has tons of tapes.  They’re all meticulously labeled and organized for convenient access.  But this tape wasn’t like the others: it was relatively new, and it was a _mix_. 

Dean doesn’t really do mixtapes.  He prefers to listen to entire albums all the way through ( _Ride the Lightning,_ anyone?) rather than mix a bunch of artists or albums together.  But he made this mixtape. For Cas. And Sam is trying not to read too much into it. 

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Sam pops the tape into the Impala’s stereo.  As the first notes of the first song begin, his heart sinks as he recognizes it instantly.  He leans his head forward so that it leans against the wheel and finally lets himself feel everything that he has been trying to stave off. 

As the song continues, Sam allows silent tears to fall and mourns.  He mourns Cas.  He mourns his brother’s unspoken pain.  He mourns everything that could have been.

_“All of my love, all of my love, oh, all of my love, to you…”_


	2. In the Air Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated a lot sooner than anticipated. I just felt inspired, I guess. I hope you like it! Comments are appreciated.

Less than 5 minutes.  That’s all the time it took for everything Dean cares about to slip through his fingers.

Dean sits leaning against the headboard of his bed, deep in thought.  First it had been Crowley. Dean would deny it to anyone that asked, but like it or not, the demon had wormed his way into the hunter’s life and made a space for himself.  Now, that space is empty thanks to a self-sacrifice that Dean has yet to fully wrap his head around.  He feels a certain way about that emptiness, but the ability to categorize that feeling eludes him.

Then there’s _Cas_ . Cas...this is one feeling he doesn’t even _want_ to categorize, because then he might have to face up to some ugly truths.  No, for now, he is going to continue avoiding that one.

Dean stands and walks over to his desk.  On top, there is an angel blade. Cas’s angel blade.  Dean isn’t sure why he felt the need to hold on to it, but here it is, though he’s not sure he will ever be able to use it.

Next to the blade is a blue and white striped tie.  Dean takes another pull from his bottle of whiskey as he stretches his free hand out and traces the silky fabric with his forefinger.  He barely remembers taking the tie.

_Dean drove on autopilot.  He was barely aware of where he was going until he ended up there.  Sam, lost in thought and in and out of sleep throughout the drive, looked around wildly as the Impala crunched to a halt on the gravel._

_“Where are we?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse with sleep._

_Dean looked at him and said nothing.  He opened his door as Sam moved to do the same._

_“No,” Dean said finally, “stay. Sleep. I’ll do this alone.”_

_Sam fixed him with a hard look.  “I need to be there too.”_

_Dean looked away for a moment, thinking.  “Okay,” he said.  “Get the...get the…”_

_“Yeah.” Sam sighed.  “I’ll get the...stuff.”_

_“Just the shovel.”_

_When Dean looked up at Sam, he saw the beginnings of an argument on his face, but it never came.  Dean knew that Sam would want to give Cas a hunter’s funeral, but Dean couldn’t bear the thought of it._

_“Okay,” Sam said after a moment’s pause.  “Okay.”_

_As Sam went to rummage through the trunk, Dean opened the rear passenger door and looked down at Cas’s lifeless face.  All of the pain that he had been able to make himself numb to during the drive resurged, and Dean lowered himself to kneel by Cas’s head.  The tears came again, sickeningly warm against his cold, exposed cheeks._

_He reminded himself to breathe.  He had to.  Otherwise, he’s not sure he would.  He reached out trembling fingers towards Cas, wanting, no,_ needing _something of his.  To remember.  To mourn. To ease this gaping hole in his chest-_

And that’s all he really remembers until they were back in the car.  He thinks that the emotions, the shock he let himself feel as they buried what remained of their angel, must’ve been too much. He repressed it all.

Dean remembers leaving Cas’s final resting place behind with a pocketful of Cas’s tie, and he is grateful that he remembers nothing else.  He withdraws from Cas’s sword and tie, leaving them there as a sort of haphazard memorial.  He turns his back, and sets his mind on what’s next.

And then there’s mom.  But after everything that he has lost, Dean is determined not to lose her too, especially since they had finally put everything behind them.  They were going to be a family again: a real family. No. If Dean couldn’t save Cas, or even Crowley, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Mary Winchester go without a fight.

Dean leaves his bottle of Jack Daniels on the bedside table and leaves his room.  He never did finish making that coffee.

* * *

 

Sam tosses a premade pie into the cart.  He thinks that maybe it might bring a little life back to Dean’s eyes, and that’d be a small victory that he really needs right now.  He then sets about trying to figure out what the hell he can make the two of them for dinner.  As tempted as he is to just grab take out again like he has the past few days, they both need a home cooked meal after everything.

He remembers something about mom making Dean tomato rice soup when he wasn’t feeling well.  Would that be comforting? Or would that just rub salt in the wound?  He decides to grab the ingredients for that just in case.  He can always make something other than soup with it if he gets a bad vibe from Dean.

Just as he’s pulling out his phone to search up a recipe, Sam hears the sound of a TV nearby: “...a string of mysterious deaths followed the locust swarm as it moved across southern Nebraska.”

Sam frowns and stuffs the phone in his pocket as he seeks out the TV.  The newscaster looks solemn and the caption below reads “12 TURN UP DEAD IN NEBRASKA FOLLOWING LOCUST SWARM.”

“Scientists are baffled by the swarm, as this particular species was not due to emerge for another 13 years.  They say there isn’t a logical explanation as to how this could be related to the mysterious deaths, but that they are looking into it regardless.”

Sam remembers with a pang something that Cas had said, something about biblical signs showing up around a nephilim when it’s born.  Perhaps since it’s so early on in his life, these signs are still popping up wherever Jack goes.

Sam buys what he did manage to grab, including the pie, and gets out of there, all thoughts of tomato rice soup forgotten.  They don’t have time for comfort: they have a job to do.

* * *

Dean sits at the table in the kitchen and takes a sip of his long awaited coffee.  He winces and hisses when the hot liquid touches his lips, but he takes another sip regardless.  He needs the focus.

With the laptop in front of him, he searches up anything he can find involving parallel universes, but next to booking an interview with Stephen Hawking and hoping he has some magical insight that he has not shared with the general public, Dean is coming up empty.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes.  Maybe talking to one of these theoretical physicists wouldn’t be such a horrible idea.  It’s better than nothing at the very least.  But just as he’s about to search up the local universities hoping to find one with a decent reputation, he goes to Google Image search instead.

It’s stupid, and masochistic, but he types in “James Novak.” And there he is.

Dean couldn’t help but notice that Jimmy’s driver’s license picture makes him look almost as constipated as Cas used to look when they first met.  It almost makes Dean laugh, but the most troubling thing is that even when they shared the same vessel, these pictures of Jimmy are so clearly _not Cas_.

Dean had looked through his phone and all of the pictures in his room, but not one contained a picture of Cas.  It troubles him that he has no record of Cas in their lives outside the last text messages they traded and the weird makeshift memorial on the desk in his room.  It is this line of thinking that Dean is pondering when Sam returns to the bunker.

Dean doesn’t look up.  He’s still staring at Jimmy’s mug on his computer screen when his younger brother approaches and he doesn't even try to click out of it.

Sam sighs behind him, and Dean gets a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.  He looks up, and Sam looks grave.  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

Sam looks him dead in the eye.  “He’s making waves,” he says, and he doesn’t need to say anything else.

Dean nods, finally feeling like he has purpose again.  He stands and closes the laptop. “Okay.  Then we don’t have any time to lose.”

* * *

Dean reluctantly lets Sam drive since, out of the two of them, Dean has had the least amount of sleep over the past few days.  He gripes and moans about it at first, but once the two of them are tucked into the car and driving through the night, he realizes that Sam has the right idea. Dean is _exhausted_ , and he is definitely not in any shape to drive.

As he leans his head against the window, he very pointedly tries to not think about the fact that, the last time he was in his car, they were driving away from Cas’s gravesite.

Dean resettles himself and thinks that maybe he might be able to get some sleep.  If the nephilim is a threat, then he will need to be alert.  He closes his eyes and listens to the hypnotic rumble of the Impala’s engine and allows it to lull him to sleep.

But when he sleeps, he dreams of a memory.

_“Where to, Cas?”_

_Cas had looked so troubled, and when he made eye contact with Dean, Dean knew that Cas had no idea where he needed to go.  Before Dean could remark on that, Cas opened the passenger door and slipped inside.  Dean followed suit, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb._

_Things were silent at first, and Dean was itching to break that silence. “I know you’re bummed that it wasn’t a real date,” he began, “but that’s her loss.  Don’t sweat it.”_

_Cas fidgeted uncomfortably and said nothing.  There was that silence again, but this time, it was a bit more awkward.  Dean scolded himself for opening his big fat mouth._

_“She said that I’m special.  That the part of me that cares so much is what makes me special.” Cas sounded bitter, and Dean didn’t like it._

_“She’s right.  You are special, Cas,” Dean agreed in a firm voice.  He needed Cas to know that he thinks the same way._

_Cas turned his face to look out the window.  “Not special enough.”_

_Dean couldn’t help but wonder if they were even still talking about Nora._

_Dean sighed. “Why don’t you come stay at the motel with me for the night?”_

_Cas looked over at him with a frown. “Why?” He asked in a defensive tone that confirmed Dean’s suspicions._

_“Because you have nowhere to go, do you?”_

_Cas pursed his lips and looked away again._

_“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean implored._

_Cas shook his head and refused to look at him. “I was ashamed.”_

_Dean braked at a stop light. “This world is hard, Cas, this life is hard. And you’re brand new to all of it. You’re struggling, but you’re trying, and there is no shame in that.”_

_Cas still didn’t look at him. Instead, he turned on the radio and let static fill the silence._

_Dean resigned himself to the fact that the conversation was over and focused his attention on picking a station. When he came across one playing “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins, he stopped._

_“Yes! This is the best part, Cas,” Dean told Cas, lightly smacking him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Listen, listen, listen.”_

_Cas raised an eyebrow but did as he was told._

_“I remember! I remember don’t worry!” Dean sang. “How could I ever forget? It’s the first time, the last time we ever met.” He grinned at Cas, and there was the beginning of a smile on Cas’s lips too. “But I know the reason why you keep this silence up. No you don’t fool me.” Dean patted Cas’s shoulder again in anticipation. “Best part, best part, watch,” Dean rambles excitedly._

_As the drumbeat started, Dean banged his palms on the Impala’s steering wheel to the beat and whooped for joy when the song went back into the chorus with renewed energy._

_“Damn, that drumbeat is_ iconic _,” Dean told Cas. When he looked over, Cas was outright beaming, and Dean felt his stomach flip at the sight. It was just such a relief to see him smile again._

And then Dean wakes up to find the sun rising on a world deprived of any more of Cas’s smiles.

He looks over at Sam, whose jaw is clenched and his hands tight on the wheel. He wonders why Sam looks like that until he realizes that “In the Air Tonight” is fading out on the radio.

“You talk in your sleep,” Sam tells him.

Dean says nothing and wonders which part he actually said out loud. Obviously it was something that tipped Sam off that he had been dreaming about Cas. He knows Sam wants to talk about it, but he’s not going to. Not yet.

So, he settles back in, closes his eyes, and hopes that this time his mind will be a bit more merciful when he dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will find out later where Dean chose to bury Cas, but for now that's a secret. Stay tuned!


End file.
